Archives for posts with tag: meditation

I’m sitting in my car at a favorite trailhead listening to the rain batter the car and feeling it rocked by gusty winds. Dawn has arrived and daybreak reveals gray skies. I’m not surprised, and knew when I woke that it would likely be a rainy morning.

The drive to this trail is about 40 minutes. It was more than quiet. Without exaggerating, I can say that it was eerie, surreal, and strangely like an end-of-the-world sci-fi adventure; there was no traffic. There were simply no other cars on the road, which is so unusual I began checking the time repeatedly, wondering if it was somehow much earlier than I thought. I scanned the neighborhoods I drove past, looking for lights on, anywhere. The world slept, or had been abandoned, it seemed. It was spooky. Traffic signals operated normally. No other cars. I drove past a huge car dealership all lit up. No people. Past a hospital, no sign of anyone else. Past a shopping center, no one in sight. No sign of anyone else, anywhere. Super strange.

As I neared my destination, I came to a hill, and the one car I would see (on the whole drive) came the other direction, high beams on. “Asshole.” I said to myself when the driver didn’t turn their lights down, momentarily blinding me.

I continued my journey, musing about the high likelihood, demonstrated on my drive, that about half of the people in a given place and time are going to be assholes… Then I noticed that I had forgotten that my own high beams were on. lol …I realized that it’s probably also true that about half of the people in a given place and time are probably stupid people… And that it’s not going to be obvious at all which are which, just looking at them. I laugh out loud wondering whether I’m stupid or an asshole. I decide I’ve probably spent plenty of time in both categories over the years (don’t we all?), and make room to cut myself (and that other driver) a little slack for being so very human.

… Still super weird that I only saw one car on the entire drive…

I get to the trailhead safely and park. I sit listening to the rain and watching for dawn to become daylight, hoping for the rain to ease up enough to get a good walk in, happy to have something to do while my Traveling Partner gets some sleep.

The big oaks on the slope are a dark brown silhouetted against a stormy blue-gray sky. I’m still alone here, some time later, which is unusual but welcome. I listen to the geese overhead. The rain stops. It’s time to begin again.

Where does this path lead?

I’m sipping an afternoon coffee. It’s delicious. I chuckle to myself very much aware that I may “pay for it” later, with degraded sleep quality, but… hell, my sleep quality was crappy last night, anyway, so maybe I’ll just wind down toward the end of the evening and sleep just fine in spite of the coffee? Maybe not. I shrug it off and enjoy my coffee – there’s no need to overthink it, or sacrifice my joy for a concern that is not now. 😀

Work is good. Life is good. I feel okay – sure, there’s pain, but it’s generally manageable. The view from the office is pleasant. This space is quiet. It is quite a nice afternoon, productive and relaxed. It’s a good time to take a break, and just… enjoy the moment.

…I think those words and my brain lobs a half-assed attack my way (“You must be overlooking something… what haven’t you done?!?!”). I shrug it off and sip my coffee, watching the raindrops slide down the recently cleaned office windows. I breathe, exhale, relax, and enjoy this break and this coffee, utterly guiltlessly without self-consciousness or doubt. As I said; work is good.

I sit with my thoughts awhile; another small luxury (having this quiet space in which to reflect). I feel my afternoon anxiety medication kick in – it’s much more obvious when I don’t seem to be needing it. A leaf falls slowly beyond the window… I’m puzzled by that, since the urban tree tops are below me. I watch it fall, as if in slow motion, caught on some breeze, perhaps. The rain falls, gently, still drenching everything on the streets and sidewalks below. There are puddles in the park across the street. The sky is an even neutral gray. I sip my coffee, and sigh contentedly. It’s a good day to be this particular human being, in this particular moment, now. I enjoy it while it lasts. (“This too will pass.”) The quiet is luxurious. I feel infused with simple joy.

…I miss my Traveling Partner, and commit to working from home tomorrow. I smile, pausing to feel the luxury of having this option, and the opportunity to choose when and how to exercise it. I’ve been tied to a desk, or punching a clock – I did it for years. Decades. The feeling of autonomy in my working hours, and even in the location from which I work, is a pretty wonderful luxury. While I do hope I “always” have it for the remainder of my working adulthood, I hope even more to unfailingly appreciate it while I do – and hopefully not be grumpy about it if circumstances change. (I’d like to be my best self, generally, and for me that woman is gracious, understanding, adaptable, and pleasant to be around… I do my best. My results vary. lol)

I take a last sip of my coffee and sigh. It’s time to begin again.

I’m sitting here watching the sun rise. I’m fortunate to have (and enjoy) the opportunity. I was out on the trail early, just at daybreak. It’s a frosty cold Autumn morning, here. There’s no rush to return home, and I know these early hours are good ones for giving my Traveling Partner a bit of time to get some sleep. We each have our different difficulties with sleep, and getting out of the house for a morning walk is one great way for me to show how much I care.

… And I enjoy the walk, the sunrise, and the quiet time alone, for myself…

Enough light to see the trail.

This morning I get back to the car too early to consider heading home, and haven’t yet gotten a “good morning” message from my partner, so I take time to meditate, and to sketch the gnarled old oak on the slope in front of my parked car. I’m bundled up for winter weather, but as the minutes pass, I become restless and ready to move on with the day. There’s a tree to decorate in the living room and I am filled with festive joy.

… It’s still pretty early. Saturday. I consider heading toward home and perhaps stopping along the way, maybe a bit of shopping?

I smile knowing my partner is getting the rest he needs.

Migrating flocks pass by overhead.

I listen to the sounds of migrating flocks of birds passing by. It’s a new day. It’s time to begin again.

I’m grateful for the terrible cup of coffee in my hand as I walk this morning. I switch hands with it, warming each in turn, walking and watching the sun rise. There’s mist in the low lands along the marsh, but it looks like blue skies above, so perhaps a sunny day ahead?

I stop and set down my coffee to take an occasional picture.

I walk and watch the dawn become day. The air is crisp, clean, and cold. Frost edges the shrubs and dry grasses. The gravel of the path crunches under my footsteps. Lovely morning for a walk along the edge of the marsh, in spite of the cold.

The path beyond me beckons.

I walk with my thoughts. My heart is filled with love and gratitude. What a pleasant holiday my Traveling Partner and I shared! The meal was excellent. The day was merry, and we delighted in each other’s company all day long. We each exchanged holiday well-wishes with friends and loved ones over the course of the day. We had everything we needed and more, and it wasn’t necessary to go out into the world or run any errands. We enjoyed the day at home.

It’s a new day now. I’m enjoying this quiet time on the trail on a chilly Autumn morning. I wonder if my partner went back to bed for a bit more sleep? I smile and finish this dreadful cup of coffee before it goes cold, and drop the cup into a trash can on my way back to the car. It’s already time to begin again.

A new day

First things first, there are no pilgrims or indigenous peoples in this particular tale. No genocide, not as any sort of direct cause or horrific result, either. This one is about gratitude and celebration, often of the most mundane details of life, and definitely about enduring and surpassing adversity, hard times, and struggle. Now.

Thanksgiving morning 2023

Gratitude is an important and healthy practice, and helps build emotional resilience and perspective. Our very human tendency towards ritual brings us together as families, tribes, and communities. Our likely most ancient and commonplace way to celebrate just about anything is through the communion of a shared meal. Wrap all of those elements together and the result is Thanksgiving. That’s the heart and soul of it, and it is worthy and beautiful.

Do we have historical baggage? Oh hell yes. The trauma, injustices, and ugliness of empire and of capitalism and patriarchy are too numerous to count or address in one tiny blog post written by one nearly unknown author. My point, personally, though is that Thanksgiving transcends all of that, if we simply stop trying to force it into some narrowly defined self-serving bullshit nationalist narrative intended to excuse a legacy of violence and othering, and allow ourselves a moment of honest gratitude for what we have and humble appreciation for what we have overcome.

I’m saying keep it real. Genuine. Authentic. Uncouple this beautiful holiday from the nonsensical marketing of the classic (and wrong-headed) good-guy narrative that is largely a lie wholly fabricated by people who probably knew better. Definitely address the original sins of our nation’s founding, it’s needful, but stop trying to use Thanksgiving as some kind of fucking excuse for, or cover-up of, legitimate horrors!

Cook. Feast. Celebrate. Give thanks. It’s been difficult this year and other years past. Share and give thanks – it could have been so much worse, and for so many it very much is worse, right now. Don’t waste time talking about the “first Thanksgiving” – talk about the last one (meaning the most recent) and all that has since transpired. Talk about making the world a better place with what you’ve learned since then.

… And after the feasting and the giving of thanks, put away the leftovers and do the dishes. Then begin again.